


follow the customs

by affectionateConfections



Series: Shit lets be the Striders [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: "morning", Alternate Universe, Brotherly Bonding, Daily Routine Blah blah blah, Drabble, It can be shippy if you want or it can just be john being a shitty blackmail, M/M, Stridercest - Freeform, or so he thought, unedited, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9090106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectionateConfections/pseuds/affectionateConfections
Summary: It was only just the beginning.





	

...Your throat hasn't been this dry in awhile.

.....Your stomach feels like it's on fire, rekindling, and breeding more little fires in every nook and cranny. Nausea is a threat only bubbling the surface of your mind, as most of it is more intent on bringing focus to shoulder the arm that fell so slovenly across your chest a few hours ago. 

The morning sun brings great distraught to your sensitive eyes, and the breathing mass next to you the second. It doesn't stir even as you reposition its limbs closer to its own body rather than yours, but does give you the hint that it's awake by making the effort to wiggle its way to the opposing side of the bed. You feel a bit jealous since you know for certain that it's a lot cooler there than the thousand degree heat the two of your bodies birthed overnight.

But you shouldn't feel that way, after all you won't be slumping into sleep until you your alarm clock reads some ungodly time of night. Amber eyes meet nothing but tangled blonde hair, and it gives you a drowsy picture you assume your own hair would be in. Your fears are put aside as you manage to comb your fingers through it with hardly any knots, but as you reach your nape the pads of your fingers come off moist and clammy.

Normally that's your automatic cue to reschedule any morning routine you were inclined for and set it aside for a shower, but as you set an almost unbearing weight on your feet and ghost to the bathroom, you turned on the sink and found splashing your face with freezing water a lot more appealing. You cup your hands and stare at the bowl your closed fingers form and take your sweet time processing the feel of little streams rolling down your neck, back and front, all the way to the hem of your sweatpants after throwing water at your face. You rinsed and kept repeating even after it began to feel a little two cold, but you were more into how it felt as tiny drops escaped and latched onto your chest or back. Each individual one made you shiver, even if slightly as gravity pushed them down. Completely ignoring the task of brushing your teeth or even mixing in a generous amount of soap with the water you nod at the mirror, leave the bathroom and go back to your room with your face, angular features and blonde hair that looks marginally less destroyed than your brothers' burned in your mind.

He's still asleep there in the same spot, but even after your short departure your bed is a little cooler. You slide in ass-first, and pat the bed in search of the slim brick-like feel of your phone, but only getting warm or cool touches on sheets and cloth. Reluctantly, you push down the wall that was your brother's back to roll him over and see if he was either A. Lying on it, B. It was somewhere around him or tangled on him.

You look back up and find your brother still moving even after a pregnant pause. Before you knew it, Dave disappeared from the bed and a muted thump hit your ears. He was closer to the end than you thought, whoops. You could already hear him groan, bitter and obviously annoyed and you cringe when you can practically feel the shitstorm brewing and flying striaght for yours truly.

"What the FUCK, Bro." 

"Don't point any fingers at me, dude. But my lips are sealed." You say as you subtly reference a you-know-who and gingerly resume your search for your phone, only managing to get a good grip on it and pulling it over as Dave pops something, muttering some half-hearted phrase about ancient jokes that had gone and been bland since explorers shared their first piss in America.

Dave staggers to his feet, graceful and dripping with every bit of Strider sexiness as possible for a teen who woke up to making out with his unsanitary bedroom floor, and leans up against the wall and you hear him pop his knuckle. Your eyes return to your phone and you wake it up.

It's 6:49 pm. Your disbelief doesn't last very long, even if you do stare at the half-shaded windows pouring golden light into the room. You tilt your head and give Dave a intensely fond stare. The little dude tucked and stayed in with you, no comment. "Morning." He was obliged to share a bed with you in the first place anyways, since Egbert was staying for Christmas break and took his room. The futon, you decided was a cold, frozen tundra fit for no man or Strider. Even equipped with a blanket it wasn't worth the risk, only Cal could handle such temperatures. Still, this made you wonder if he was trying to match your infamous all nighters again. You've been saying 'good-night' to a clock that said '12 pm' for too long. Maybe it was John. Maybe you were thinking too hard. 

You meet his red eyes for a moment before scowls. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot." He quips in a worn out tone, before popping yet another finger and quite literally striding out of the room. You laugh incredulously afterward, earning a muted "shut up!" in the other room. Fuckin' kids you think, while the devilish smirk on your face speaks another story. You're caught between amused and exhausted from having to stand witness to "the" Dave Strider's unflattering daily life.

Wait, you forgot something.

"AJ's in the gutter." You yell out, and you're rewarded with a loud groan from your little brother who's obviously vocal about the unfortunate confirmation of zero percentage in apple juice stored within the house. You drank it all. John -- who's conventionally up, snickers loud enough for you to hear him, and not too seconds later Dave starts bickering again. "Stop whining." you bark, while opening a message notification on your phone. Dave's friend sent you a picture.

Almost immediately, you catch a glimpse of two pale bodies slid together so you're quick to zoom in on the photo. You and Dave, in the position you were laying in not even an hour ago. Dave was _somehow_ doing a decent job in spooning you, and just looking at him in this format almost emphasized how big he's gotten. You're only two years older than him, but you've always gotten used to seeing him a tiny mass compared to you. He looked practically your height already. Jesus.

On top of that, you looked smaller and tense. Even in your sleep the lines of your eyes squinted and your eyebrows drawn a bit too close to look relaxed. Dave was completely contrary, blissful and slumped in comatose, clashing with your looks. While you'd rather not have this in someone's gallery and available for decent blackmail, you were mostly feeling indifferent with how it turned out.

This was only the beginning, you fuckin' knew it. You sigh, before sending a text reading 'Well played, Egbert.' You decide to inflate his stupid ego a little more in hopes he'd think these types of things impressed you, and keep his future pranks in equal level to this one -- something that wouldn't phase you -- and hope for the best.


End file.
